Better than Perfect (15 page)

He glances up at me. “If you came here to mess around, I'm not really in great shape, but if you want to do all the work while I sit back I'm game—”

“Put that ego to rest. I only came to help disinfect those wounds. Shut up or I'm out of here.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he says, then moves to the center of the bed to give me room. I'm surprised he tosses his ever-present phone aside.

I kneel on the bed and gently swipe the washcloth over his cut eyebrow. I'm too aware of the fact that we're on the same bed and if things were different . . .

No. I can't let my mind wander to the “what if” because reality is what it is. Derek has made it clear that fooling around is a game to him. I don't play those kind of games.

How can I hide the fact that I have a crush on him when I have a major case of nerves right now? I'm trying to stop my hand from shaking, but there's still a slight tremor in my fingertips. The only time I get this jittery is during a game where whether we win or lose depends on me making a field goal. Normally I shrug the feeling off and focus on the task at hand.

“Why are you doin' this?” Derek asks, his deep voice sending electricity through my veins.

If I look into his mesmerizing clear blue eyes, will he immediately know what I'm feeling? He'd laugh at me if he could read my mind and my body. I avoid eye contact and instead concentrate on wiping dried blood off his lip now.

“Because I don't want to see you get an infection,” I say. “Don't flatter yourself, Cowboy. This is for my benefit more than yours.”

I wash away the blood, careful not to make him wince in pain.
I'd never tend to a wound with the guys on my team. When one of us gets hurt or cut up, we either take care of it ourselves or let one of the trainers do it. Right here, right now, my female instincts to protect and heal have kicked in. When all the dried blood is off, I dab some antibacterial ointment on his wounds. It feels too personal and intimate.

“Your hands are shakin'.”

“No, they're not,” I lie as I dab the ointment on his warm, smooth skin. “I'm annoyed and tired and pissed off.” And frustrated with myself for wanting Derek to pull me close and hold me all night. Fantasies are never as good as reality.

I sit back on my heels and regard my work. I'm suddenly tired and feeling emotionally and physically weak. If Derek reached out for me, I'd snuggle into his chest. Right now if he asked me how I felt, I'd be tempted to tell him.

He leans back on the bed and holds his breath, an indication that his face isn't the only thing bruised. “Thanks, Ashtyn.”

“I'm not done. Take your shirt off and I'll check your ribs.”

“If I get undressed, you're gonna want to do more than check my ribs.”

Acting like I don't care has become the new normal for me. I point to my stoic expression. “This is my ‘not impressed' look.”

The side of his mouth quirks up as he lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. He flexes his pecs.

I yawn in response, refusing to show any sign of admiration. I zone in on the red marks that are starting to form on his side and ribs. It's going to take more than a few days for him to heal.

“Want me to take my pants off, too?” he jokes as he wags his brows suggestively. “I might have some swelling down there.”

Everything is a game to him. I look him right in the eye as I slip a finger under the waistband of his pants and shove the ice pack underneath. “There,” I say as I get up to leave. “That should help.”

“What the hell happened to you?” Gus barks when I pass him on my way to the bathroom in the morning.

“I got in a fight.”

“I don't need a delinquent or troublemaker in my house. Brandi!” he yells, his gravelly voice bouncing off the walls of the house.

Brandi has a big muffin in her hand as she walks out of the kitchen. “Yeah, Dad?”

Gus throws his hands up. “Your stepson got himself in a fight. Look at him, all beat up and looking like a thug.”

The Parkers sure like to use that word.

One look at my face and Brandi sucks in a breath. “Oh, my God! Derek, what happened?”

“It's nothin',” I say. “I just got in a fight, that's all.”

“About what? With who? Were the police called? How did you
drive home like that?” Brandi asks, bombarding me with questions when all I want to do is take a piss and a painkiller.

“It's not a big deal.”

“Sure, it's not a big deal to you,” Gus argues, “because I'll be the one having to foot the bill if whoever you fought decides to press charges and sue you.”

“Sue me?” That's a joke, considering I'm the one who got my ass kicked. You'd think he'd ask if I'm the one who wants to press charges. “You won't have to foot any bill, Gus.”

“That's what you think.”

I
think the guy just wants to be miserable. I don't want to get caught up in the Parker family drama. If I did, I'd tell Gus he should be more concerned about his family than whether or not he'll be sued for a fight.

In the bathroom, I look in the mirror. Damn. Ashtyn was right. I look like a piece of meat that's been through the grinder one too many times. Dried blood is on my lip, my cheek is black and blue, and the side of my rib is bruised.

Ashtyn came in my room last night to nurse my wounds. She had no clue I was tempted to mess around with her in an attempt to make me forget the searing pain in my body. Just the thought of it made my body excited. The girl has power over me. When she looks at me, I feel like a fucking virgin again. Not that she looks at me often. She avoids eye contact most of the time. The sight of me obviously makes her sick. She practically told me as much last night.

She said she wasn't impressed. I made fun of her comment
and pretended to mock her, but in reality I wanted her to admit that she had a reaction to being so close to me. Hell, I had a reaction. Little did she know I actually needed that ice pack in my shorts.

“What are you doin'?” I ask myself.

I'm not supposed to get caught up in someone else's messy life. I've got my own to deal with. Up until now I've gotten along just fine, cruising through without getting too involved or too interested in anyone else.

Ashtyn Parker is dangerous. She's got this tough exterior, talks like a guy, and dresses like one half the time. Then there's the other half, the half that's vulnerable and insecure and wears sexy clothes to make sure people know she's all woman underneath that harsh facade. I thought I was pushing her buttons in an attempt to push her away. But maybe it's to break down that wall she's got up.

This morning I saw her leave the house. Her head was down as she took Falkor for a walk. Ugh, if she keeps moping around, I'm gonna be annoyed. Is she pining after that dick of a boyfriend? She said they broke up. I'll bet the guy comes back and tries to lure her into his life again.

“Derek, are you in there?” Julian's voice echoes from the other side of the door.

I open the door and let the little guy in. His eyes go wide and his jaw drops when he takes one look at my face. He steps back in fear.

“It looks worse than it is,” I tell him. “I promise.”

“Did you get in a fight?”

“Yep.”

“I think you lost.”

I laugh. “Looks that way, huh?”

He nods. “You look tough with bruises on your face. Did Daddy teach you how to fight?”

“Nah.”

“Will you teach me?”

“Buddy, you don't want to learn to fight. Just use your words like your mama says.”

“But what if someone hits me first?”

“Tell a teacher or your mama.”

“Then all the kids will call me a tattletale and I'll have no friends.” He puts his hands on his hips. “You don't want me to be a friendless tattletaler, do you?”

The kid should be a lawyer, because he's already got negotiating skills. Just to ease his curiosity, I kneel down and hold my palms up. “All right, show me what you got.”

The little guy puts his fists up and strikes my palm. “How's that?”

“Not bad,” I say. “Again.”

He does it a few more times. I can tell his confidence is building because his punches are getting harder and he's starting to loosen up. “I was watching professional wrestling on TV when my mom wasn't in the room,” he says. “Randy the Raider gave this guy the F.U. move.”

“The F.U. move?”

“What are you doing, Derek?” Brandi asks, suddenly appearing behind Julian. “Are you teaching my son how to fight and use profanity?”

Umm . . .

Julian turns around excitedly. “Mom, Derek was just showing me—”

“Julian, go to your room. I need to talk to Derek alone.” Julian is about to protest, but Brandi urges him out of the bathroom. When he's out of sight, Brandi pushes back her long hair. “Julian was excited when I told him you were coming to live with us. He calls you his big brother and looks up to you.” She sighs slowly, a clue that a well-thought-out revelation will come out of her mouth next. Wait for it . . . wait for it . . . “I thought of making you and Julian real brothers.”

What is she talking about? Does she expect us to do a ritual thing like cut ourselves and rub blood together so we're blood brothers? “Brandi, I hate to break the news to you, but no matter what, Julian and I didn't come from the same mother.”

“I know.” She tilts her head to the side. “But I thought it would be nice if I, you know, made it official by adopting you.”

“I'm not an orphan.”

“I know. I just thought you and Julian . . . you know, if something happens to me and your father . . .”

I get it. She doesn't want to be my mother any more than I want her to be mine. It's all for Julian's sake. Time to put her wayward thoughts to rest. “Julian's my little brother, Brandi. Period.”

“Good. We need to be on the same page. And regarding you and my sister . . .”

Oh, man. Maybe Brandi's more with it than I give her credit for. That's not good. “Nothin's goin' on between us,” I tell her. “Your sister drives me insane. I could never date a girl like her even if we—”

Brandi suddenly bursts into fits of laughter, cutting me off. “You're kidding, right?” she says as she tries to catch her breath. She holds her stomach like she's trying to stop the baby from being violently jiggled around while she laughs. “Oh, my God! That's
hilarious
! No offense, but you are
so
not my sister's type. I just . . .” She bursts out laughing again, letting out a couple of snorts in the process. “I just . . . Wait, did you actually believe I thought something was going on between you and Ashtyn?”

Umm . . . “No. What's your sister's type?”

She wipes her eyes and holds in her giggles. “She likes guys who are serious and dedicated and driven. That's not you
at all
.”

Nope, that's not me. And no girl is going to turn me around, especially one who likes guys who are serious and dedicated and driven. Ashtyn and I would never work.

Even if I did want to get tangled up in the sheets with her last night.

After my run with Falkor this morning, I go into Derek's room to check up on him. Bree is there, sitting next to him on the bed. If that vision wasn't enough to make me feel ill, Bree is feeding him cookies. She's got her hand poised over his mouth as he opens it like a baby bird about to be fed by its mother.

“Hey, Ash,” Bree says when she notices me. “I just came to make sure Derek was going to survive. I made him carob and wheat germ cookies because you told me he likes to eat healthy.”

“That's so . . . cute.”

“I know, right?” She feeds him another cookie. He's all too happy to munch on it while she reaches into the container for another one. “Have fun at practice today.”

I wave bye, knowing that I have no right to be upset that Bree has taken my place at his bedside and wants to stay there permanently. The thing with Bree is that she'll be happy with whatever
attention Derek gives her. If he suddenly gets tired of the relationship, she won't be devastated. She'll start crushing on someone else right away.

My emotions don't work that way, which makes me realize that Landon and I were over long before it ended.

Landon. I have to break the news about him to my teammates sooner rather than later. I'm not looking forward to it, but it has to be done. During practice, I pull Trey, Jet, and Victor aside when Dieter orders a water break.

These guys are my friends and teammates, guys I never want to let down. But they deserve to know the truth.

“What's up, Capt'n?” Jet holds up a water bottle and squirts water into his mouth.

If they only knew beforehand that voting me captain would make Landon quit the team, they'd have changed their votes. All the guys would've made sure Landon got to be captain. I'm finding it hard to ask how they'd feel if I turned down the captain position and offered it to Landon to lure him back to Fremont.

“You know Landon lives on the dividing line between Fremont and Fairfield, right?”

Victor pats me on the back. “We know he's transferring, Ash.”

What? “You knew?”

They all acknowledge that they know about it, too.

“Since when?”

Jet and Trey both look at Victor. “My dad found out over the weekend,” Vic says. “One of the assistant coaches does business with my dad, and he told him the news. Dieter knows, too. We
were kind of waiting for him to break the news to you so we didn't have to.”

I don't know if that makes them good friends or bad ones. At this point, I don't trust anything that comes out of anyone's mouth.

When I get home, my dad is watching television in the living room. “Dad, I need to talk to you about football camp.”